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Page 489
death and dishonor for myself and beggary for them.''
Ian finally rose from his chair and walked over to pick up and draw his sword. He pulled his eating knife from its sheath and struck the sword blade sharply. It rang truesweet, mellow, and sustained. No one had tampered with the temper of the steel. Ian turned toward the door.
"Come in and tell your tale, if you will."
"Will you pass your word that you will let me finish before you kill me?"
"I will not."
There was a little silence. Sir Peter's face disappeared from the barred window. Ian did not care. He was so confused, so torn between relief that Alinor was not in danger and hurt because she was indifferent to his life or death that he desired only to be alone to untangle his emotions. Solitude was not to be his, however. He heard a heavy sob, and then the sound of the bars being lifted from the door. It was pulled open, and Ian could see the room beyond was completely empty. Before he could wonder whether this was a trick in which he was to be "killed in battle," Sir Peter entered the room. True to his word, he was wearing no more than a house gown; even the sheath of his eating knife was empty.
At first he paused near the door, seemingly bracing his courage. Then he walked slowly toward Ian. "I pray you let me help you to arm," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I believe we will soon be assaulted. I was taken completely by surprise. I had barely enough time to close the gates, and they must know this. They will try to take us as soon as they can form and bring up their ladders and machines. I do not wish my keep to fall into the hands that have led me to my destruction. Someone must lead the men. If I am dead But I am going backward about my tale."
"Where are my shield and helmet?"
"Just without the door. Listen"

 
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